


ANTIDOTE

by AwfullyDifferent



Category: C-Pop, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Bad Decisions, Bad Pick-Up Lines, China, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Trainee, Underage Drinking, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 11:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16515830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwfullyDifferent/pseuds/AwfullyDifferent
Summary: After her fifth scandal, rising teen star Yvette is finally dropped by her company, and left to fend for herself. At sixteen and a half, she's got no choice but to whore herself out, as nobody in their right mind would hire her, especially after what she's done. After one especially hard night, she stumbles into a bar, and runs into a group of drunken trainees who spill their guts to her.





	ANTIDOTE

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many problems and I'm just re-watching Idol Producer like a crazy person. Also, I have like 4 tests next week but I really wanna bust out this chapter while I'm an emotional wreck. Also, in unrelated news, Denzel Curry's new album is so good omg. Oh yeah and for the sake of the story, let’s imagine that dual citizenship with China and the US is possible.

 

* * *

 

I look into the mirror, and a demon glances back at me. She's got long hair, light pink waves that cascade down her back and accentuate her nonexistent curves. My cherry-red lips pout naturally, giving me a youthful face. I've been fucking hideous monsters for about four months now, and the only part of me that's decayed is my vagina, which is now unfortunately repulsed by all men. Tonight, the air was tenser than normal, and even while dressed in my innocent white slip (client's choice!), I felt dirty. But none of that mattered, because all I need to do was collect the thousand dollars offered by "Mr. Rich" (which I'd grown to associate him by), and be done. I associated all my clients by stupid names, because they made me feel more humane, and less like a blow-up sex doll. 

Over my white slip, I throw on a matching silky robe, adorned with lace and whatever other innocent shit these rich businessmen seemed to enjoy. I rehearse my lines for the hundredth time, speaking in an even softer voice than usual. I even add an "accidental" purr at the end for shits and giggles. I'd say "Bonjour" like a cute little french maid (thus my name) and look up at him with large doe eyes, like I had no idea what'd happen next. While I was snorting at my own dry attempt to poke fun at my failed life, the black Lamborghini he always picked me up in arrived, and the driver quietly urged me in. After that, the rest was history.

 I always made sure to bring a change of clothes, packed in either a cute little accessory purse, or hidden somewhere in my robe/outerwear. Today, I shimmied into a slinky red dress—which was silk, I believe—and threw my sex hair into an ugly bun. My makeup was surprisingly still intact, so I didn't even bother to make a trip home before stumbling into a rather shabby looking bar. Once I was in, I looked just like everyone else, save for the four terribly attractive men leaning against the dusty grey walls. One of them was slightly taller than the rest, with a harsher face, and a slightly more unsure stance. He caught me staring, and started giggling (giggling!) to his friends. I scoffed at him, and started to walk away, when the heel of my ten dollar, thrift-store, probably-broken platform heels gave away, causing me to fall onto the ground, which seemed softer than usual. I looked down to see a pair of amused eyes, eyes which belonged to the tall vampire-like man who'd giggled at me.

I fully expected him to ask me if I was okay, or at the least, to just save me the embarrassment, but all he did was giggle again. Like a giant child. At this point, I was terribly pissed (and he was terribly drunk), so I tried to break free from his grasp, but fell down again. My heel was completely busted, and all I could do was watch as the man hoisted me up and carried me over to where his—equally drunk—friends stood. He eventually set me down on a chair, sprained ankle and all, and began to...cry? Four months ago, I would have enjoyed being kidnapped by such an attractive man, but now all I was thinking was how much my neck hurt from looking up at him (curse my mother for having shitty genes, and being a shitty mother). His friends began to hug (or tackle) him, like a drunken mosh pit of only four people. It wasn't long until he began spilling his guts out.

Maybe I learned too much about him, the man who'd once been a model and was now training to hopefully debut successfully. I could tell he was the type that worked hard and truly deserved the results he got just from the way he talked so passionately (even when drunk) about his luck to even be signed to a company in the first place. His friends began joining in, and after a while, I'd gone to the women's room to steal the tissues (they always had them there) for these men, who'd positioned themselves drunkenly on the ground. The tallest one, "Giggler", I'd deemed him, was even laying face-down on the coldness of the floor. Listening to them made me miss being a trainee, and crying over what now seemed to be trivial, rather than crying over whatever old man was thrusting himself into you. 

I used to be a trainee in Korea, but I'd left after a scandal that had spread all over the country. I moved back to China, where I had dual citizenship, and discovered that my mother and father wanted nothing to do with me. On certain occasions, I'll brave my fear of the internet, and recall the hundreds of articles. "Cube Trainee with Promising Future Ruins All", "Sleeping with the Enemy has Never been so Bitter", and other headlines raced through my head and marked me as the slut I was. 

"Hey, pretty girl, are you still listening?" whines the giggler.

For a drunk man, he looks quite genuinely concerned by the tears which had somehow managed to spill from my eyes (rest in peace, my blue contacts), and his rough, calloused hand moves tentatively to brush them away. 

His tone suddenly changes, "Are you okay? I'll drive you home."

That causes me to laugh for some reason, "I don't think either of us should be driving today."

The other three men—who I'd forgotten existed—stopped their rather lively three-person rock-paper-scissors game to look over at us.

The smallest one gave a bright smile, "Do you wanna play? You should play!"

Giggler shoots a glare at him, "But she's crying! You should cry too so you guys match!"

Another one of the men, who I'd deemed the leader, and who was starting to sober up cut in, "I think we should all go home, especially you Ling Chao."

The small one pouts, but gives in, and flicks the forehead of the last man, who screeches back at him.

"Yeah...I think you should take your kids home," I suggest hesitantly.

He nods his head and gestures towards Giggler, "You wanna restrain him, or is that my job?"

"Restrain?"

"Yeah, I can never get him to leave when he's comfortable. He might look calm now, but don't blame me when his inner Pterodactyl comes out."

"Are you sure? He looks pretty unbothere—

A loud yell startles me and Giggler now has his arms wrapped around me, "Don't let him take me home!"

Giggler reaches over to hit each of the other three men, in hopes of not going home.

The leader looks at me tiredly, "I'm going to take these two home. Can you force Bu Fan back home, I'll give you the address, here."

He leaves me alone with Giggler—Bu Fan—so I breath deeply (honestly would wheeze if I wasn't so tired and stressed), and grab one of Bu Fan's arms, dragging him towards the exit as best as I could. He doesn't budge and looks at me with the cutest puppy eyes his face could muster. 

"Come on you big oaf, why are you so damn heavy!" I breathe out, while he looks at me with an amused smirk.

"I'm expensive."

Somehow, he's still terribly drunk, so I guess a complete fucking lightweight. I ask him why he doesn't want to leave, the same way a kindergarten teacher talks to a child, and he responds with what is either the most flattering, or most stupid thing I've even told. 

"What if I never see you again? Wait, I know, you can give me some of your dress and it'll be like a puzzle!"

I didn't even want to ask if that was an innuendo, so I just nodded, and casually—well, as casually as I possibly could—ripped a piece of red silk off my dress, handing it to his eager hands. I take him home after, where he collapses on the ground, in front of his friends who are waiting patiently on the stair steps.

"Thanks, pretty girl."

 

 

 


End file.
